


melt your headaches, call it home

by ComeAlongMaisy, gaycherryscones, gaywardsun, selkiesfour, snowbazami, theobliviouswriter



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell
Genre: Angst, Carry On Round Robin, Co-workers AU, Collaboration, Completed, Finished, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Ice Cream Shop AU, M/M, Mental Breakdown, Mental Health Issues, Mutual Pining, Normal AU, POV Alternating, Round Robin, light homophobia, theres a lesbian oc bc ofc there is
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-03
Updated: 2021-01-03
Packaged: 2021-03-13 04:08:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28522188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ComeAlongMaisy/pseuds/ComeAlongMaisy, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaycherryscones/pseuds/gaycherryscones, https://archiveofourown.org/users/gaywardsun/pseuds/gaywardsun, https://archiveofourown.org/users/selkiesfour/pseuds/selkiesfour, https://archiveofourown.org/users/snowbazami/pseuds/snowbazami, https://archiveofourown.org/users/theobliviouswriter/pseuds/theobliviouswriter
Summary: Baz Pitch's father suggests he take a summer job at Watford Cones to 'teach him some responsibility' before he heads off to university. While slinging scoops, he gets to know his co-worker Simon Snow-- a boy sweeter than all the ice cream in the shop-- and starts falling for him. But Baz's father refuses to acknowledge his son is gay, and Simon's low self-esteem refuses to believe Baz would ever love someone like him.--I don't know why Snow cares so much. It's not like we're actual friends. We're just work friends, if that. I don't even have his phone number. There's no way I'd tell him about my homophobic father and all the shit that comes with being his son. Also, I'm not coming out to Simon Snow in the staff room. "It's none of your business.""Okay, if you're not going to tell me, why don't you go have some ice cream and cheer up?""Ice cream doesn't solve everything, Snow.""That's what you think, and you'd be wrong."
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 6
Kudos: 104





	1. chapter one

**Author's Note:**

> This fic started as a Round Robin story. I'm so grateful I got to collaborate on such an amazing story with 5 other talented writers <3

_  
Simon  
_

It’s been a long day.

The sun beats down on me as I clean off the benches outside the ice cream shop. I watched some kid practically wipe his ice cream cone on the table while his mother did nothing to stop him. Now, I’m sweaty and frustrated because no matter how hard I scrub, there’s still a film of sticky residue coating the table. It’s just turned six in the evening, so I'm hopeful that business is finally dying down. 

A family of around seven people stroll up to the door, and I sigh as I put down my water bucket and walk back inside to take their orders. The man that I assume is the father is staring at the menu overhanging the cash register as if it personally insulted him. His wife is trying-- and failing-- to wrestle two toddlers away from the display case that I just wiped down. I just know there are sticky little fingerprints all over it now. 

The first one to walk up to order is a woman in her forties who’s dressed like a goth teenager. Behind her is a boy, maybe my age, who looks like a younger version of her. He’s pulling his black hair into a ponytail while the woman teases him for it. I plaster on my customer service face and cheerfully greet the whole group.

“Hi! Welcome to Watford Cones! Would anyone like to try the cookie dough? It’s our flavour of the month!” The boy around my age lifts an eyebrow at me, judging my service. Maybe I sound a bit overly friendly, but it’s second nature to me by this point. Just part of the job. I bet he’s never had to work a day in his life-- never had to wonder how he’s going to pay rent, or where his next meal is coming from. The simple thought of someone like that judging me gets my blood boiling. The smirk he has only makes it worse. 

“Yes, I want cookie dough!” The two toddlers say together and then giggle at each other.

“What do you say to the young man?” Their mum says in a gentle voice, taking one of them by the hand. 

“Please?” The tiny boy says, gently tugging his hand free from his mum.

“Pretty please with a cherry on top!” The other one says, and they burst into giggles once more. I smile. Most of the time children are little gremlins, but sometimes they’re just precious. These two seem intent on making my day. 

“Of course! Any toppings?” I ask. 

"Umm whipped cream?" One asks.

"With rainbow sprinkles!" 

"Pretty please!" 

"With a cherry on top!" Their words bounce off of each other, as do their giggles. 

"So whipped cream, rainbow sprinkles, and a cherry for you both?" I confirm. 

They shake their little heads. "No! No cherries."

"Yeah, silly, it's just how you say 'please'."

"Oh, okay." I ring that up and ask the mum, “anything else?” 

“Two plain vanilla cones, please. Basilton?” The dad answers instead, turning to the smirking boy. Basilton? What kind of rich kid name is that? The boy-- Basilton-- looks at me. I try to smirk, but I’m sure I just look dumb. 

“A chocolate cone, please,” he says flatly. Another child, older than the toddlers, pulls on his shirt to get his attention. He stoops down for her to whisper in his ear, then he adds, “make that two chocolate cones, one with sprinkles.” 

“Fiona?” Basilton asks the punk woman in the front. She glares at me as if she's sizing me up for a fight; I feel myself shrink a bit under her gaze. 

“A mint chocolate chip cone with nuts, whipped cream, and chocolate syrup, please,” she says, her voice a lot deeper than I expected. She collects her hair behind her ear and I see it’s decorated with piercings.

“Coming right up!” I say with my enthusiastic customer service smile. I ring up the family’s order and place the cash into the till. I’m a little overwhelmed because Trixie called out tonight and Agatha is on her break, so it’s just me working alone, but I think I’ve got this….

I look down at the orders I’ve jotted down on my work pad and get to work;

_ Two Cookie dough cones with whipped cream and rainbow sprinkles, _

_ Two plain Vanilla cones, _

_ One Mint Chocolate Chip cone with nuts, whipped cream and chocolate syrup, _

_ And Two Chocolate cones with rainbow sprinkles.  _

As always, I start with the kiddo’s cones first; there’s nothing better than seeing the smiles on their little faces and hearing their excited ‘thank you!’’s. Next is the parents; they politely grab their vanilla cones, then take the children to wait outside whilst I finish up the last two orders. 

“Ah yes!” The punk woman-- Fiona-- answers loudly as I bring her order to the counter. “This looks well good! Yum!”

I smile to myself and get started on the last order-- chocolate ice cream with rainbow sprinkles.

When I hand off the last cone to Basilton, he just holds it and stares. Fiona guffaws. He glares at her, his face slowly turning red. I look between them, trying to figure out what about the ice cream is so funny, and lift my eyebrow in question.

“You got my order wrong,” he explains. I notice the tips of his ears turning the same shade of red as his face. He hands the cone back to me. “I did not ask for the rainbow sprinkles.” 

“Oh, I’m so sorry! I’ll fix that right up for you!” I say through clenched teeth, willing my voice to stay positive. He’s an idiot for not appreciating how fucking delicious sprinkles are, and now I’ll have to throw the whole cone away. They seem like the lot to get really worked up over an incorrect order, and I don’t need another bad mark on my performance review. They also give the impression of wealth, and maybe if I’m lucky and polite, they’ll leave a good tip. I decide to make my voice as saccharine as the ice cream I’m scooping as I speak. 

“Our Chocolate is really one of a kind. It’s one of my favourites here! The owners of the shop make all of the ice cream themselves. They add a small shot of espresso-- it’s just enough coffee that it brings out the richness of the chocolate. It is the best I’ve ever had, and I’m not just saying that because I work here.” I joke. 

Basilton and Fiona exchange glances as I speak. “But nothing. NOTHING! Beats the Sour Cherry Ripple! I would eat it all the time if I could. Think the iconic raspberry ripple ice cream... but Cherry! It’s pretty incredible. I highly recommend it!” I finish up and hand him his cone. “And here we go! One Chocolate cone, without the rainbow sprinkles.” 

“Uh, thank you.” He says taking the cone and looking away.

“No problem! And again, I’m sorry for messing up your order.” I apologize again, rubbing the back of my neck.  _ Please tip, please tip, please tip... _

“I apologize for wasting the ice cream.”  _ As if _ . I resist the urge to roll my eyes. Entitled prat.

“Don’t worry about it. It happens.” I shrug.

He chuckles, looks up at me again. “Have a good night… Snow...?” I look down at my name tag, which today just says ‘Snow’. I lost my other one, and Penny made this one with my middle name-- which I  _ hate _ \-- just to spite me. 

“Thanks. Come again!” I wave them goodbye as they saunter out the store. Alright, no tip, I guess. I’m behind on rent, and I suspect the only reason my flatmate Shepard hasn’t been badgering me about it is because I have been taking up so many extra hours at the shop and I’m barely ever home these days. Nearly a £40 order and they couldn’t be arsed to leave a single note in the tip jar. Outside the window I see Fiona push Baz, his face still red. He pushes her back. I stare at the door for a while, take a deep breath, then get to cleaning and closing up. 

It has been a long day.

_  
Baz  
_

Once Fi and I are outside, she takes a  _ bite  _ of her ice cream. I don’t know how she does that; my teeth hurt just watching her. Then she teases me, pushing me lightly as she speaks, “I can’t believe you had that poor bloke remake your whole order.” 

“I apologized, at least.” I push her back then shrug, licking my ice cream. It’s not that I hate sprinkles. I mean, they’re fine. I just believe you should always get what you ask for, and what you pay for. Plus, rainbow sprinkles do not fit my aesthetic. They would’ve ruined my Instagram post, which is almost entirely the reason why I even agreed to come in the first place. I already thought up the caption on the way over here-- 'life is like ice cream. enjoy it before it melts.'

Fiona and I join my parents and the children, sitting down at the table directly next to theirs. Father is slowly working on his ice cream, staring out into the sky and seemingly trying to ignore everything else going on around him. The twins have ice cream dripping down their chin and sticky fingers. Mordelia has spilled ice cream down her shirt, and Daphne is trying to help her clean it up with some baby wipes from her purse. The kid seems unfussed, which is great because if either of the twins did that, they’d probably be crying and/or screaming their heads off by now. 

It’s warm outside, but not hot enough that I feel the need to eat my ice cream quickly before it melts. The sun hasn’t started to set yet, but it’s getting there. Oh, I almost forgot about the Instagram post. I pull my phone from the back pocket of my trousers and hold my ice cream up slightly, so puffy white clouds are in the background, then I snap the picture. I look it over, and I smile; it’s perfect on the first shot.

“Basilton, will you please put your phone away during family time?” Father says. 

I sigh. What difference does it make whether or not I’m on my phone? We’re just eating ice cream. Instead, I do as he asks and say, “yes sir.” 

“Maybe you should see about working here for the summer,” Daphne says, and she gestures to the front door. There’s a  **We’re Hiring!** sign taped to the inside. 

I scrunch up my nose. “Absolutely not.”

“And why the hell not?” Fiona pipes in. The twins giggle, and Daphne shoots Fiona a look. “Sorry, forgot. Why the heck not?”

“Do you not like ice cream?” Mordelia asks. 

“Who doesn’t like ice cream?” I say, then take a few licks of mine to prove my point. 

“I think a job could do you some good, Basilton,” Father says. “Teach you some responsibility.”

I scoff. “Could you guys honestly see  _ me  _ working at an ice cream shop?”

“That boy seems to love it,” Fiona points out, then she chuckles. “He sure was talkative.”

“He probably doesn’t. He probably hates it here. He probably started mentally cursing us all out the moment we walked through the door and didn’t stop until we walked out of it.” I look through the windows and watch him for a minute. His head is bent down, his bronze curls in front of his eyes as he counts the money in the till.

“You mean he was cursing out  _ you  _ for having him remake your order.”

“I  _ apologized. _ ” I bump my hand against the bottom of Fi’s cone as she’s licking her ice cream, and it slips and gets in her nose. I laugh, and the twins giggle too.

“Well, how about you apologize to me for messing up my makeup and go get me some napkins!” She goes to swat at my ice cream, but I lean back so she can’t reach, still laughing. 

“Your lipstick was already ruined anyway,” I point out.

She flicks me on the forearm and then, to my surprise, pulls a tenner out of her pocket and slides it across the table to me. “Get me some napkins, and then you can apologize to that poor boy for being a bloody nuisance with a nice tip. I’m sure he’ll appreciate that.”

“Fine.” I grab the note and pocket it. There's no way that kid deserves a £10 tip just for putting ice cream in cones. I’ve already eaten most of my ice cream; all that’s left is the cone and the ice cream inside of it. The portion sizes here are way too large. 

“Do you want the rest?” I hold my cone out to Mordelia, who ordered the same as me but with sprinkles. She nods emphatically and then she’s holding two cones, taking turns licking from each one. 

I stand up from the table, and as I’m walking to the door, Father calls out, “you should ask him if they’re still hiring.”

“Fine,” I say again, and then I go inside.

__  
Simon  


Just as I'm about to finish my shift and turn to go, that prat enters the store again. His eyes set on me.

“Hi! Can I help you with anything else?” I ask, eager to get this over with, but still trying to keep the place's friendly brand.

He scoffs at me and shakes his head. I hear him mumble something under his breath.

“Sorry, I didn't catch that,” I say, frankly a bit confused at his reaction.

“Nothing, I just wanted to grab some napkins,” he says, and while I turn to get them I hear him talk again, “I was just wondering if you had to put on that cheery mask with  _ every _ customer or just children. Apparently all.”

I want him to order another cone just so that I can spit on it before giving it to him.

“It's part of the job,” I say, my voice involuntarily more defensive.

“Oh, I know. Just don't think it's for… everyone.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” My voice shouldn't be this aggressive when talking to a customer, but this posh brat is really getting on my nerves.

He squints his eyes, almost trying to read me. 

“As in, Father wants me to apply for a job here, and I couldn't do  _ that _ every day,” he says, acting like smiling to customers is the worst thing anyone could possibly do.

“Being nice to people is the least difficult thing about this job.” I immediately regret it as I say, “but you're right, maybe it's not for you.”

“I didn't– That's not what I meant!” He raises his voice and I can almost see his cheeks flush with embarrassment. “It's not  _ being nice _ when you're paid to do it, and your little 'welcome' speeches make you sound like my 4-year-old twin brothers. For the rest? Please, how difficult can it be?”

“Are you alright, Simon?” says Agatha from beside me at the counter. I didn't even see her approach us. She must've heard us fight. 

I don't know why I do it, but the next thing I say is, “yes. This guy was just wondering if we were still hiring.”

He looks at me with disdain and confusion. I smile at him in return.

Agatha tells him that we indeed are and hands him a paper with the application. He just mumbles a small ‘thanks’ and turns back to me. He looks like he's gonna set me on fire.

“If it's so easy…” I say.


	2. chapter two

_  
Baz  
_

I walk to the ice cream shop by myself. It's been a week since I applied for that job, and they finally called me in last night.

Fiona refused to drive me-- something about responsibility and staying humble, but I couldn't really hear her over the sound of betrayal. Before I walk in, I snap a picture of the sign above the shop for my Instagram and adjust my uniform. It feels scratchy and cheap, and the apron hangs unflattering on my hips.

I am certain the universe hates me. That and my father.

As I enter, I’m met with the sight of Snow talking to that blonde girl who helped me with my job application. Agatha, I think was her name. We also spoke on the phone. I wonder if she’s the manager; I think we’re all around the same age, but she seems to have more authority than Snow. 

As soon as they see me enter, they stop talking. Agatha nods at me, while Snow raises his hand in greeting. I nod back.

"Alright, Baz," says Agatha, joining her hands. "You will work the register while Simon takes orders. I'll be at the back," she points to a small, closed off section behind the counter where there are tubs of ice cream at various levels of fullness, "preparing orders. Simon will walk you through the process. He used to work the register often when he first joined as well. Cool? Cool." 

Without waiting for a reply, she turns around and goes to the back of the shop. She's professional and has no tolerance for any sort of nonsense. I decide that I like her.

Unfortunately, that has left me with a very awkward looking Snow. He looks around for a few minutes, then finally, meets my eye. 

"So... right… uh-- I’m Simon." I can tell he’s just as surprised as I am that I’m actually working here now. He sticks out his hand, presumably for me to shake, and I just stare at it. 

“Your name tag says ‘Snow’,” I point out.

“Right, yeah,” he says. “My name is Simon, though.”

“Hmm… I’m going to call you Snow.” 

We go back and forth for a bit before he finally moves on. He stutters his way into an explanation of how to work the register and what my job entails. I zone in and out of the conversation, amused at how he can even manage to make such a simple task sound so complicated. 

"...so yeah. You can just ask me if you need help with anything else. I'll be right here. I mean, of course, I'll be right here, where else would I go? Not that I am  _ always  _ here. Just during my shifts. I mean…," he trails off. 

I keep my expression neutral and uninterested as I watch him slowly combust. I can see a flush creep all the way up to his cheeks as he scratches the back of his neck, still babbling on about something. 

_ Merlin, how is he still talking. _

As the day goes on, customers filter in and out at regular intervals. The job is mindless and filled with long minutes of nothing, the kind of minutes that seem to stretch into hours, as I stand there waiting for the next customer to walk in. It never really gets too busy, which is a shame because Agatha is always holed up in the back, waiting for her tablet screen to pop up the next order, scrolling through her phone and never really bothering with us. 

Snow seems to have decided that him talking nonstop would be a perfect way to pass the time. I have never heard someone use so many words so say essentially nothing at all. I would tell him to shut up, but I have a feeling he would apologize for the next 3 days, so I just let him be. 

_ "So yeah… I have been working here for a few months now. Penny, my best friend, recommended the job to me. Her mother owns this place. Not that she hired me just because she knew me. It was all very fair. I mean, it's just nice. I still get to see Penny. Not that I got this job just to see her. It's just a perk. I mean I still would see her, but it's just more often this way, and it's pretty neat, because she's my best friend, you know. Actually, I’m not sure if I mentioned that yet. We met in school…" _

_  
Simon  
_

Baz is a mystery I have yet to figure out, but then again, I’m not usually the bloke that does the “figuring out”. 

Usually, Penny’s the person to do so, and I am the person that acts on it. I’m happy for her, getting into a nice university, but work was so much easier when she was by my side. I still don’t understand why she couldn’t keep the job until she actually left for school. She’s doing a Summer Program, but it’s only 4 days out of the week. We still could’ve had the whole summer together. I guess it’s harder to argue when your mum’s the one firing you, though. Not that I’d know. 

I have a hard time figuring out Baz’s actions, which makes me both frustrated and intrigued. It makes me wonder why he switches between being partially nice and being a prat. Some days, he smiles at me. Some days, he glowers. I’ve never seen someone glower before him. I’ve only heard the term, but now I know how to apply it. 

I guess it’s like putting on a customer service voice. Except he’s treating  _ me _ like the customer. 

The first couple of days that he worked here, he let me talk… and talk… and talk. It’s embarrassing how much I spoke, because I know that he didn’t care for what I had to say. I could see it in the way that he looked at me. He didn’t even have to say anything; I got his message. He wanted me to shut up, so I did. I said nothing. Didn’t look at him. Didn’t speak to him. 

My reaction seemed to confuse him. When I did catch him looking at me, he looked like a wounded puppy. 

It really makes me want to grab him by the shoulders and shake him back and forth, saying, “what do you want from me?!”

Of course, I refrain. I’d look like a mad man. 

The first day Baz finally gets to work the counter by himself, I’m meant to stand back and keep an eye on him. I’m distracted when Penny walks through the door. Before I can say anything to her, Baz starts taking her order. When he moves onto the next customer in line, I wave Penny over.

“What are you doing here?”

“That’s no way to greet your bestest friend, Si. My mum wanted me to pick up some paperwork from the shop on my way home.”

“Why didn’t you just let me take your order? I know your usual by now.”

She shrugs. “I wanted to talk to the new guy.” 

“His name is Baz.”

“Jesus, Simon. I know his name by now. He’s all you’ve been bloody talking to me about since he’s started.” 

“It’s a big deal, okay? We hardly ever get new employees at Watford,” I defend myself. “Especially posh know-it-alls like him.”

Penny squints. “You can throw around insults all you want, but that isn’t going to convince me you don’t like him. You’re blushing.” 

I press the back of my hand to my cheeks and groan. How could I like that prat? “I don’t like him, Pen. I’m  _ confused  _ by him. He makes me confused.”

Penny snorts. “That’s what it feels like when you like someone. They make you feel like up is down and down is up. Like the world was never right before you met them, and now it’ll never be right again without them. It’s… confusing.”

Sometimes Penny talks to me like I’m a child, like I don’t know anything about the world, even though we’ve grown up side by side in the same one. I appreciate her advice too much to be offended by this, though. She’s usually right about things. I decide to ask her for her opinion, whispering all the ways Baz has confused me in the short week I’ve been working with him.

“I’d wager he likes you too.” The look on her face tells me she knows this for a fact, but she had only just met him. How would she know?

I scoff at the idea and glanced at him. He’s looking our way, so I pretend that I’m looking around the store and scratch the back of my neck. 

“No way in hell, Penelope Bunce.” 

“Just… take it slow, Simon. He’s only been here a week. Tread gently. Agatha told me how you wouldn’t shut up the day he had his first shift. Boys don’t usually like it when you talk their ears off. Trust me. I would know.” 

__  
Baz  


In the coming days, his words grow fewer and fewer. I think he finally took the hint that I’m not the chatty type. Eventually, he pretty much stops talking to me altogether, instead choosing to mostly just stand around looking bored. He only talks in the moments that Agatha joins us up front, or once when his best friend Penny showed up-- they stood in the corner whispering about something. Maybe it was just my imagination, but I think I saw them both stealing glances at me.

It's kind of impressive how he turns himself on and off-- the person he becomes when a customer walks in, and then his unbecoming as they leave. He tries too hard, but he's good at his job, and I can see that. I can also see how he was  _ on  _ the first day or two when I started working here, before he just stopped trying.

It's a shame really, that he stopped talking, because there isn't anything to fill the silence anymore. Even without all the talking, Snow takes up too much space. He moves too pointedly and breathes too loudly. I can hear him simply existing right next to me all the damn time. I can feel him expand a little more each day to take up every inch of free space around me. 

Simon Snow takes up more and more space each day. Until there is no room. Then he slowly slips into everything else. He creeps into my room, and settles into the air.  _ Growing, growing, growing…  _ Until I fall asleep comparing the stars outside my window to the splatter of freckles across his neck and cheeks.

Sometimes, in the shop, we make small talk. Most of the time, I can’t tell if he genuinely dislikes me or is trying desperately to be my friend and is just going about it the wrong way. He flips back and forth from throwing light-hearted insults at me to sharing near-secrets between customers. There is a day where he loosens up and gives me a small, easy smile. It’s so small, so simple, but it takes everything for me to remember how to breathe. Then, he's all around me and it's so sudden it nearly knocks me off my feet. 

I walk home that day and I try to ignore how the setting sun looks like the gold of his hair, casting the clouds in shadows bronze as his skin. I help Mordelia with a school project that night about Aquatic Life, and I keep zoning out as I keep wondering what water depth most closely resembles the blue of Snow's eyes. I can’t wait to go back to work the next day.

He's all around me, and I can feel him make his way inside. There's nothing I can do to stop it. Even if there was, I'm not sure I'd want to.


	3. chapter three

_  
Baz  
_

The next few weeks are surprisingly pleasant. Snow and I are, dare I say, almost friendly to each other. Whenever Snow smiles at me, I feel my knees weaken and my heart skip a beat. I’m the hopeless romantic gay in my own movie and Snow is the straight love interest that ends up breaking my heart. 

Everything was going well and I knew something bad was coming up. Still, it surprises me when my father calls me down to his study to ‘talk’. 

As I make my way down the stairs, my thoughts are racing with what he may have to talk to me about. When I push open the door, the tension is already so palpable that I don't have the time to ready myself for what is to come.

“Basilton, please have a seat.” He motions to the chair in front of his desk and I take it, crossing my legs and lifting my chin. He clears his throat and continues, “so a friend of mine called. He has a daughter around your age that wants to meet you.”

This again? I sigh. “Father, is this another set up? I have told you that I am not interested in--” 

He cuts me off, “Basilton, you are getting to the age where you need to settle down and I am just trying to help you with finding a wife.”

“I don’t need you meddling in my love life. I am perfectly capable of finding someone on my own time,” I say flatly, because I know all my words are useless. We have had this conversation countless times, and it always ends with one of us storming out of the room. 

When I came out, he simply told me he was disappointed and never talked about it again. He's not oblivious; he’d just rather pretend I’m something I’m not. He’d rather  _ me _ pretend I’m something I’m not. These attempts to set me up are not only annoying but depressing. This time, I'm getting the final word. 

Before he starts again, I hold up my hand. “Father, if you could excuse me, I must go to work.” 

“You can’t avoid this forever. Your mother would be very upset with you,” he says. He knows how much I hate it when he pulls out the “your mother would be upset” card, so he must do it just to anger me at this point. I tense up, but I don’t dare to show him he got to me. I continue to walk out, grabbing my outfit from the railing by the door and walk out. 

I’m not actually scheduled for another hour. I just need to get out of the house before my father continues trying to guilt trip me into being straight. 

"You're here early," Snow remarks when I walk through the employee entrance. He's leaning against the wall with his phone in his hand.

There's no venom in his voice, but I still scoff at him, slamming the door shut behind me. I'm not in the mood to deal with the headache that is Simon Snow today. "I'm surprised you even know the meaning of the word. Early." 

"What's that supposed to mean?" 

"I'm always covering for you when you're late."

"I don't ask you to."

"Yeah, well…." I go to grab my apron from where it's hanging beside his head. I assume Trixie is working at the front, covering for Simon while he takes a break. Despite it being the summer, we're usually not too busy mid afternoon on a Tuesday. 

"Wait--" Simon shoves his phone into his apron pocket and pushes himself off the wall. I continue tying my apron and pretend I don't notice. "Why  _ are _ you here? Your shift doesn't start for another hour." 

I'm almost surprised that he knows my hours for the day, but I figure it's just because I come at the same time as Agatha today. 

They act like they're going off to war when they say goodbye at the end of their shifts some days… and I often wonder if there's a  _ history  _ there I don't know about. Or current feelings. I don't ask, because it's not my business, and I don't think I genuinely want to know… but they  _ are  _ close. 

"I'm sorry my being here a little earlier than you'd like bothers you so much. What are you going to do about it? It's not like you're  _ my  _ manager." 

"Don't even start with me,  _ Basilton _ ." He draws my name out. "I've been here longer than you. I do have some authority you don't."

"Alright, sure you do." I roll my eyes and start walking toward the door leading to behind the counter, but Snow grabs my wrist. I yank it free and turn around to face him, my eyebrows furrowed. "Do you want me to tell HR you just assaulted me?"

"Don't be so dramatic." He crosses his arms. "You're being more of a prat than usual today. Tell me what's wrong."

I don't know why he cares so much. It's not like we're actual friends. We're just work friends, if that. I don't even have his phone number. There's no way I'd tell him about my homophobic father and all the shit that comes with being his son. Also, I'm not coming out to Simon Snow in the staff room. "It's none of your business."

"Okay, if you're not going to tell me, why don't you go have some ice cream and cheer up?" 

"Ice cream doesn't solve everything, Snow." 

"That's what you think, and you'd be wrong."

_  
Simon  
_

I’ll prove him wrong. I smirk at him then start walking towards the front of the shop. There’s no customers in the store. It’s surprisingly empty for a Tuesday afternoon.

“Hey Trix, can I take over for a sec?” I ask my coworker nicely. She shrugs, moves out of the way, and pulls her phone out. I turn back to Baz who’s now in front of the counter.

“So, what can I get you?” I ask, twirling the scoop in my hands.

Baz gives me a look, rolls his eyes. “Just Chocolate.”

“Ha, this seems familiar! Coming right up.” I set to work on our cones, one cone of chocolate for Baz and a Sour Cherry Ripple for me. I pass the chocolate cone over to Baz and he lifts an eyebrow at me. He starts for his wallet. “Don’t worry, I got it.” I tap my card before he can. I grab my cone and motion Baz towards the back. I take a seat out from the staff room table, turn it around, and sit on it backwards.

“Wanna talk about what’s going on?” I ask quietly. 

“It's none of your concern.” Baz practically growls back at me. I can see the anger in his eyes. It’s probably best to drop this, but I can’t. I don’t know why, but seeing him so down makes me feel itchy.

“Look, I’m sorry, mate. I'll leave you alone if I'm really bothering you that much." He doesn't say anything. I'm not sure if I should continue, but I do anyway. "You just… you looked awful when you came in, and believe it or not, I do care about you, so it's gonna bug me until I see you cheer up." 

“It’s nothing, just home stuff, I’d rather not talk about it right now, Snow.” He still looks uncomfortable. 

I decide to change the subject. I talk about everything and nothing, trying to get his mind off the things at home. I mostly talk about ice cream, because at this point my brain is made of the stuff. 

I keep licking at my cone, and glance between his and mine. I tilt my head. “Sour Cherry ripple and Chocolate would go so well together, d'you think?"

“You’ve worked here how long and have only now thought of that?"

“Well, I like things simple!" I defend my honor, crossing my arms.

“Yes well, you are simple.” Baz covers his mouth when he laughs. I notice he actually has a nice smile. I’ve never met someone like him before. He has the shiniest hair I've ever seen. 

Baz’s stormy grey eyes meet mine, and he raises that perfectly sculpted eyebrow. “What are you looking at?”

The back door suddenly bursts open, startling me from my thoughts. 

“Agatha! You’re here early too!” 

She looks at me, brows furrowed. “Early? It’s quarter to? This is the time I always arrive, Simon?”

“Wait, it's quarter till? Shit, my break ended like 10 minutes ago! I gotta go!” I scramble out of my chair and run towards the front. “Trix I’m so sorry! I’ll make it up to you!”

__  
Baz  


Simon Snow is going to be the end of me.

He not only did everything he could to try to make me feel better, but he also stopped trying to find out what happened when I said I didn’t want to talk about it. The perfect git.

I could’ve gone to the shop early because I needed cover after escaping the police. I could’ve been a bloody serial killer. He barely even knows me, and he still wanted to cheer me up. Regardless of what had happened.

It’s busier now than when we were talking. And oh  _ we talked _ . Snow can’t blurb out a single coherent sentence, but he can also almost carry out an entire conversation by himself. It was hard to think of anything to say when he was so close. I could almost make out all the moles in his face. And for the ones I couldn’t, I wanted to drag my hand to his forehead, pull up the golden curls that wouldn’t let me see all of him. And just… feel them, too. I am doomed.

My shift goes quicker with my mind full of… well, not so professional thoughts about my co-worker. He’s taking on the last customers while I work the register. We exchange a few awkward glances, but that’s it. We don’t mention our little chat. Maybe it’s better that way. I don’t think I could handle being Snow’s ‘not just work’ friend. 

Of course, since the universe makes it impossible for me to have anything easy, Snow approaches me as we both turn to leave.

“Hey!” I hear him say, and I walk a bit faster. “Baz!”

I give up and slow down so we’re at the same pace. “What do you want, Snow?”

“I-- um-- well--” he stutters, while weirdly waving his phone at me. 

“Jesus Christ, Snow, just say it.” 

He sighs, and then takes another breath. “Can I have your phone number?”

I freeze. Internally. Externally, I just raise an eyebrow in hopes that it’s enough to end this conversation.

Then I remind myself that this isn’t a perfect world, and that Simon Snow isn’t going to flirt over text and ask me out on a date. Nor that we’ll start dating and have make-out sessions in between shifts. I remind myself that he’s most likely straight and he only wants my number to maybe ask me to cover for him at work sometimes.

“I mean, I was just wondering really. It’s fine if not. Trixie wouldn’t give me hers either. Something about keeping her work life apart from her personal life, but she has Agatha’s number, which I think is a bit rude. We’ve known each other for like-”

“Snow.” I bark out a laugh. I don’t mean to. I just find the fact that he not only overthinks, but  _ overtalks _ , hilarious. I keep that shit bottled all up inside. “You can have my phone number, if it means you’ll shut up.”

He chuckles. “You’re such an arse.” Then gives me his phone.


	4. chapter four

_  
Simon   
_

Having Baz's number in my phone is like holding a baby. As in, I'm not sure if I should be allowed to be trusted with it without adult-- or at the very least, Penny's-- supervision, and needs to be taken away from me immediately.

I know I should probably wait a few hours before I text him. Wait until I actually have something to say. Something smart and funny and perfect that will make him see how sophisticated I can be. That's probably his type, right? Sophisticated and complex blokes that like their tea black and say stuff like,  _ "shall we commence to the resting chambers so we may resume our coitus." _

I shudder. I take out my phone and send the most sophisticated text I can think of.

It's a picture of the scones I'm having, followed by the text ‘ _ getting sconed ;) _ ’

Great. Now I just have to wait… for him to block me….

I settle into my room. My flatmate, Shepard, is something of a social activist, which means he's usually out of the city working on a bunch of different projects. It's just as well, because Penny hates the sight of him whenever she comes over. Well, at least she used to...

I was roomed with an American bloke last year, Micah. Penny dated him for a while. Last week, Agatha told Penny that her type was apparently guys that I'm roomed up with. Penny went beet red at that, which is saying something. I've never seen her get embarrassed before.

I fidget on my bed, checking my phone over and over. When I'm certain Baz will never respond, my screen lights up. I smile at the contact name he saved himself as,  **Heroic Gifted Dead Handsome Coworker.**

**Heroic Gifted Dead Handsome Coworker:** _Who the fuck is this?_

Oh shit, he didn't have my number. I should've texted him first telling him it's me. Just as I am done changing his contact name, my phone  _ dings _ again, thankfully saving me from freaking out too much.

**Baztard:** _ Snow? _

**Baztard:** _I'm assuming it's Snow._

**Baztard:** _That was terrible._

**Me:** _EXCUSE ME! my puns are a-scone-ishingly hilarious_

**Baztard:** _ I'm blocking you. _

**Me:** _ you butter not _

**Baztard:** _I will kill you._

**Baztard:** _I still don't know if you're Snow. I could be talking to a completely random stranger._

**Me:** _ of course it's me _

**Me:** _i mean simon_

**Me:** _i mean... simon is me i am him_

**Baztard:** _Glad to know you're just as articulate while texting, Snow._

**Me:** _glad to know you're still a fucking ponce_

**Baztard:** _Touché._

I don't know what it is that we're doing. Is he just being nice? Is this something more? Are we flirting? Agatha says I wouldn't know flirting if it gave me a lap dance. I can’t just assume Baz might not be straight, right? 

I didn't even know that I liked blokes until Penny kindly pointed out the difference between her appreciating Micah's arse and me shamelessly eyeing it. " _ No Simon, you are not just admiring the human body. _ " 

Some further discussions on that topic led to my gay awakening-- or bi or… well, I'm still figuring it out. It's a whole new thing for me though, and I'm still working through it.

Baz and I keep talking for quite some time. He tells me about his siblings and his aunt that he seems to think quite highly of. He talks kindly of his step-mother, and stays away from the topic of his father. And his birth mother. I don't push him on it.

I tell him about Penny and Agatha, and how we have always been a team since primary school. I tell stories of our antics working together in the ice cream shop before Penny had to leave to join a Summer program. I tell him about the quiet ways Agatha shows that she cares, and how Penny is the closest thing I have to a family. I don't mention my parents. I'm grateful that he doesn't push me on it either.

We go on talking for quite some time, switching between talking about our lives and making jabs at each other, until he tells me he has to go. " _ Unlike you, some of us do have responsibilities, Snow. _ "

I go through our messages over and over for the next hour rereading everything we talked about.

I fall asleep with my phone still in my hands, and a smile on my face.

_  
Baz  
_

After texting Snow for a couple hours, I realize just how different we are. My walls are made of stone, while his are paper thin. Growing up, I’ve learnt to keep everything bottled up inside. Snow is an open book. He has the inability to shut the fuck up, but that’s what I like that about him. When he speaks, I happily absorb the energy he radiates, practically sloshing from him like a bucket too-full with water. 

I feel like I could write a biography about him, but it’s still not enough. I want to know everything about him. I want to crawl inside his skin and see what it’s made of. I want to go back in time and grow up beside him. I want to grow old with him and experience the world together. I want to  _ know _ him.

I open Instagram and I easily find his account linked to his phone number. He only has 41 followers compared to my 3.2k. His account is also private, which means I’ll have to request to follow if I want to see his posts. I hesitate. Maybe it’s too soon to go full stalker mode. I don’t want him to be creeped out, but… you can tell a lot about a person from their Instagram. I hit follow.

I’m still looking at his profile picture, embarrassed that such a small image of him has the ability to make me blush, when he accepts. I look at his most recent pictures-- Agatha and Simon in their Watford uniforms, Simon in an amateur Link cosplay brandishing the Master Sword, an adorable Cavalier King Charles Spaniel, and an ice cream dish with all 32 flavours he’s dubbed the ‘Sundae God’. 

I didn’t think he could get more adorable. It’s official-- I have a crush on my co-worker, which is definitely a bad idea. There’s no turning back now, though. 

The night ends with me suggesting that I have responsibilities, and I do, but my brain turns to mush after half two and I don’t want to end up outing myself in a sleep deprived state. I  _ can _ and  _ have  _ sleep texted before, and I don’t want to fall victim to confessing my feelings to Snow via text message. It’s immature, and I would like to think I’m classier than that. I know the bloke in real life. I have the ability to tell him to his face. (Not that I have any current plans to. Just wishful thinking.)

I stop texting him then, but I read over our texts. Our taunts. Our admissions. I wonder if he possibly drunk texted me—I learned things I wouldn’t have told my closest friends… if I had closest friends.

I have friends, don’t get me wrong. Dev and Niall are all right lads. But I couldn’t… I would never confide secrets to them like Snow did with me. Is he normally this naïve? Or do I just seem particularly trustworthy to him? I don't know which is worse.

I fall asleep grinning and with my phone in my palm, and when I wake up the next morning, I feel like I’m floating on a cloud. How could one person make me feel this way? 

The next morning, I reflexively grab my phone and I see the goodnight text he left me after I fell asleep.

What now? 

Do I tell him good morning? Or is that odd? Do I ask him if he goes into work today? I don’t. Maybe I could stop by. But why would I?

I’m hopeless. This is why I  _ abhor _ having crushes. 

I end up texting him a simple,  _ Hey _ . Then, I go into the study and pick up the violin. It helps me think when I can’t. 

Usually, I only need a few minutes, but with the amount of thoughts roaming around, I spend hours. My fingers are blistered by the time I finish playing, and when I check my phone, Simon’s left me a wall of texts in my absence. 

This can’t end well.

__  
Simon  


Baz and I have been texting every day. Sometimes we talk about life, our job, our future plans (or lack thereof). Sometimes, he’ll text me about a weird dream he had at 3 a.m, or I’ll call him about this cute squirrel I saw on my way back to my flat.

I can't help but hold out a little bit of hope that maybe his heart jumps the same way mine does when I see him smile. I let it spark in my heart and grow into a gentle flame. Always burning, warming me inside out. He makes me so happy, and I have barely known him for three weeks.

I convince myself that maybe he's also always finding excuses to talk to me throughout the day. Maybe he calls me not because he has something to say, but just to hear the sound of my voice and the ring of my laughter coming through the phone.

During all our conversations, the topic of sexuality has never come up, though I have been dying to offhandedly mention it for so long now. Penny says I should stop getting so worked up over this, and just ask him out. It’s just I don't even know if he is into guys, and I don't want to ruin our friendship by asking him out if he has no interest in me.

Even at work, I still can't stop thinking and daydreaming about what might happen if I asked him out. A dozen reasons he’d say yes, a million reasons he’d say no. 

"We've got customers, Simon. Stop having wet dreams about Basil and focus."

I nearly choke on the glass of water I am having. Agatha is standing next to the ice cream tubs looking bored. 

"How di--" I start to splutter but Agatha interrupts me.

"Customers, Simon," she singsongs. 

Right. I go out and take their orders. The shifts have changed and Trixie is working the register before Baz comes in. After I have served the customers, I go to the back again. Before I can say anything, Agatha speaks up.

"Everyone knows. And by everyone I mean, Penny, Trixie, Shepard, and anyone else with a basic sense of observation who has been around Basil or you for more than five seconds. Well, except Baz apparently because he seems to be just as dense as you." Then Agatha begins to clean up the shelf muttering something that sounded like "thought he was better than that."

I stand there for a few minutes, not really knowing what to say. 

This is the difference between Penny and Agatha. Penny explains stuff to me really gently. Agatha is all facts and harsh figures, she will lay it out to you as it is. They argue about that sometimes. Agatha says Penny should stop treating me like a child and let me be independent. At the end of the day, though, they know they both want the best for me, so they reach a middle ground. 

Agatha and Penny were friends first. They sat together in a class on the first day of primary school and Penny decided they would be friends right away. She had to harass Agatha into going along with it. Then, Penny recruited me into the group a few years later since we took the same art class and we were both terrible at it. 

In the beginning, I thought Agatha hated me. She never said a lot, and seemed generally uninterested in what I had to say. Penny and Agatha seemed to be good enough friends and I felt like I was just creating tension between them. Then one day, Agatha found me in a corner of the school, shaking violently and having an anxiety attack. She stayed there with me, on the floor for hours, not going to any of her classes. She let me cry on her expensive shirt and rubbed my back through everything. She never mentioned it again, but since then, Agatha and I have had this strange bond and she has been there for me as much Penny in her own way. Agatha and I even went to prom together, as friends. 

I know Agatha isn't the most expressive with her feelings, but I look out for the tiny ways in which she’s always there for me. I appreciate her so much. Even after Penny left this job, I found comfort that Agatha would still be there, a few feet away from me if I ever needed her. 


	5. chapter five

_  
Baz  
_

It’s been a couple months at Watford Cones, and what originally was supposed to be just a summer job has turned into a place I never want to leave. I’m supposed to be declaring my major and heading to university soon, but London School of Economics sounds dreadfully boring compared to slinging ice cream with Snow. 

Every time Simon Snow gifts me with a good day, my father ruins it once I return home. He has been asking me impossible questions after every shift, pressuring me to apply for classes, start my career, find a wife, bear a child to carry on the family legacy, etc etc. It seems a bit much for a nineteen-year-old boy, if you ask me. 

His new way of torturing me is not only setting me up with random girls, but actually  _ bringing  _ them into my house. Last night, I actually came home to a girl waiting in the main room. I was so tired, I completely dismissed her and walked straight to my room. Then my father appeared beside me with her.

"Basilton, you remember Lara from the New Year's party?" 

“No, I do not.”

"Well, she was in town and I thought it would be perfect for you two to go to dinner." Without saying another word, he vanished and left us alone in the middle of the hallway.

"I'm sorry to disappoint, but I’m ga-"

"I'm a lesbian."

Well, what can I say? We did have things in common after all and went out to a nice restaurant anyway, grateful my father let us put anything on his tab. We talked about school and football and joked that we could always just marry each other for the hell of it to get everyone off our case. However, when I came back with no news of a wedding, my father brought the discourse again. I haven't been able to ignore that voice in my head since,  _ if you don't find a wife soon, then what will all the money you inherit be of use to you? At least be practical, Basilton. _

_  
Simon  
_

Today, it's me, Baz, and Trixie. I'm at the till, Trixie is taking orders, and Baz is the ice cream artist. 

We're about halfway through the day, and it's a busy Saturday. Baz has been on edge all day, and I'm not sure why. I'm trying not to be pushy and respect him when he says he doesn't want to talk about what's bothering him. I also try not to take it personally, even though sometimes I can't help but feel like he's acting strange because I've done something wrong. 

I look over at him now. He's handing a cone to a blonde woman, and she definitely doesn't look happy. "This is not what I ordered. I asked for the butter pecan, not the peanutbutter. What if my son has a peanut allergy? What would you have done then? You could've killed him!"

"Well, does he have a peanut allergy?" Baz asks, challenge taking over his expression. He's still holding the ice cream cone out to her, and she crosses her arms. 

"That is NOT the point."

"I'm sorry I messed up your order. It was an honest mistake. Let me remake your cone." I can tell by his tone that it’s all sarcasm, but he’s really trying his best to be kind to her. He’s joked before that talking in a customer service voice actually physically pains him, but hearing him now it doesn’t feel like a joke. It’s like he’s allergic to being nice to customers.

"I don't have time for that. We have a football game to get to."

He drops the customer service voice entirely. "Okay, you can either take this cone, or let me remake it. It's up to you."

"We should get free ice cream for the inconvenience." 

"I can't really do that..."

"Let me speak to your manager." 

He clenches his jaw. "Our manager isn't in today." 

"Well, get them in!"

"I can't. I don't have the power to magically make someone appear." Baz is seething, and he's raised his voice. 

I decide it's probably best for me to step in now. I leave the till and come over to them, putting on my best customer service smile and dealing with her. It's still busy, and we don't have much time, but I ask Trixie if Baz and I can take five. She rolls her eyes, but it's not a no. 

I take the peanut butter cone from Baz and lick it. "Let's go in the break room." 

"No, I'm fine."

"You're clearly not. You've been on edge all day." Reluctantly, Baz follows me into the break room. "What's up?" 

"I..." He hesitates. "I got into an argument with my father last night. It happens a lot. I don't want to talk about it." 

I nod, and take another lick of the ice cream. "Have you tried the peanut butter? It's quite good."

"Yes, Snow. You made me try all of the flavors one of my first days here."

I hold it out to him anyway. "You should try it again."

He scrunches up his nose. "I am not eating after you." 

"Come onnn." I give him puppy dog eyes. "I thought we came to the conclusion that ice cream solves everything?" 

He sighs and takes the cone from me, giving it a lick. 

_  
Baz  
_

I didn't mean for this to get the best of me, but the annoying customer really exceeded my current capacity for bullshit.

Then of course, Simon Snow, the hero in armor himself, came to my rescue. All it took was a glare to flood my brain with entirely different thoughts. Now we're sitting alone again. Awfully close. Fighting over ice cream flavours. If Snow ever closes the space between us enough that I can lean forward and kiss him, I just might. He’s been quite  _ friendly _ lately. Very  _ touchy  _ friendly. Lunch breaks with him are torture.

"You know, you're kinda cute when you're grumpy." I think I choke on my ice cream, because then Snow’s laughing. "Are you blushing? Did I make the ever-stoic Baz Pitch blush?"

"No." I better not be. Fucking basic human anatomy isn't going to give away how I feel. I won't allow it. "It's the cold."

"Huh. Okay. The cold." He replies, casually, like he didn't just make me feel all sorts of things. I try to will myself to stop thinking there's something there when there isn't. I try to convince myself I'm convincing myself there is.  _ Or maybe I'm convincing myself there isn't _ . Either way, this is a bad idea.

We sit in silence for some time. It's not even that awkward; it's peaceful and comfortable, actually. It feels right, even as we do nothing. As long as we're together, as long as we're  _ alone _ , nothing could ever be wrong.

I look back up at him, and he looks away from me.

I don't really know what's going on between us, but whatever it is, I don't want it to stop.

__  
Simon  


Baz and I sit together in the storage room if our break is at the same time, and he waits for me when our shift is over and we walk out together. We’ve fallen into a comfortable rhythm of working together, and I don’t remember a time before Baz. I glance over at him a lot throughout the day. Sometimes, he'll give me back a weak smile, or respond by miming a gun to his head. 

One day, Baz and I are playing stone, paper, scissors between customers. When he goes on his break, Agatha walks up to me and puts a hand on my shoulder. Her eyes are softer and there is a hint of smile playing on her lips. "Just ask him out, Simon.”

"That's what Penny said too.” I huff. They don’t understand that it’s not that simple. 

"Well, maybe we're right."

"Well, maybe you guys should stop having secret conversations about my dating life." I suddenly feel defensive, mostly because I have nothing else to say.

"We also have conversations about Penny's dating life, if that makes you feel better."

"Agatha--"

"Right. Sorry, sorry. I won't dictate your life." She puts up her hands seemingly backing off, then, under her breath, "that's Penelope's job."

I think she’s going to let it go, then she looks up at me again. "For what it's worth, I think he likes you too. I also think if you did ask him out, he would say yes."

I should deny it, deny liking him at all, but my voice betrays me. "What if he doesn't, though? I don't want to ruin what we have."

I feel so small, so insignificant, as if saying it out loud is making this all the more true.  _ Why would someone like him want to go out with someone like me anyway? _

Agatha huffs. "What if he  _ does _ ? What if he does like you, and you never ask him out? What if he gets tired of waiting and goes for someone else? Can you live with that? The fact that you never even took a chance?"

I don't know what to think or say to that. I want to shrug her off for making me think of all this when all I had on my plan today was hanging out with Baz. At the same time, I want to hug her for planting a seed of hope in my heart. Before I can do either, Baz returns from break.

Suddenly, it is impossible for me to  _ not _ to do this. I value his friendship, I value it as much as I do Agatha's or Penny's, but I don't think I can keep pretending I don’t want to spend every waking moment around him. I keep telling myself: there is a chance that the universe doesn't hate me for once. By some miracle, he does like blokes, and he likes  _ me _ .

When I let myself believe in this miracle, when I really let myself fantasize about a future in which this doesn’t blow up in my face, the same series of images flash through my brain. I’m having tea next to him, snuggled up in bed. He’s reading some pretentious classic in the lounge while I cook dinner. I’m trailing my fingers through his hair as I tell him about my day and he tells me about his. They're all so  _ normal _ , so domestic, it takes me by surprise. I’ve wanted to kiss blokes before-- and God knows I want to kiss him now-- but I want so much  _ more _ . Even the friendship we have, him sharing that with anyone else makes me sick to my stomach. 

So I say  _ fuck it _ , maybe I will ask him out after all. It's going to be a risk, but maybe it will be the best damn risk I have ever taken in my life.


	6. chapter six

_  
Simon  
_

By the time Baz and I close up shop together, I still haven’t said anything. I’ve been keeping my eyes on him, but whenever I felt like I could talk to him, a customer would always walk in and we’d be busy again. 

I’m just standing there, watching him, mustering up the courage, when he takes out his hair tie. He wears his hair in a bun when we work. He says he doesn’t like his hair getting in his face, which is just as well because I’m sure the customers wouldn’t like to find his long, shiny black hairs in their ice cream. He always looks dead handsome, but when he shakes his hair out at the end of a long shift, he doesn’t look like the immaculate boy he usually does. Actually, he looks a little wild, a little crazy. When he pushes his hair back, I have to look away. 

I’m still recovering when he starts getting to work wiping down the counter in front of us. It only takes a second for him to look back at me. “Stop dawdling and help me, Snow.”

“Um…” I blink back to reality. Now’s not the time to be thinking about running my hands through his hair. I’m never going to actually get to that point if I don’t talk to him now. “I actually wanted to talk to you.” 

His brows knit together, concerned. He tosses the cloth onto the counter and turns around to face me. “Am I in trouble?” 

“No—no. Nothing’s wrong. Not… not really.” Nothing’s _really_ the matter. I’m just going through a bout of gay panic. I should’ve just asked him out over text. This is too hard.

“Well, good. That settles that, then.” He returns to cleaning, and I have to get it all out. 

“D’youwannagetbobawithme?”

He turns around again. Raises his stupid eyebrow, and even chuckles a bit. Baz is growing more amused and I’m getting more annoyed with myself. I usually don’t have this much trouble. “English, _please_.” 

After taking a couple of deep breaths, I try again. “I was wondering if you wanted to get a drink with me? I know a good boba place and… and do you want to get some tomorrow evening? I know we both have the day off work, so if you don’t have any plans… I just… I mean, you can say no. I’m sure you’re probably busy. You seem like a busy person. If you’re not though, would you want to…?” 

“You think I’d _want_ to see you on my day off?” Baz leans against the counter and cocks his head, his hair falling back into his eyes. 

My stomach drops, and I’m sure my smile does too. This was stupid. I’m so stupid. Of course he wouldn’t want to… why would he? 

“Relax,” Baz says, before my thoughts have time to spiral into something truly twisted. Then he smiles, and God, he’s so attractive. I could almost kiss him now. He runs his hand through his hair again; I’m sure the prat knows what he’s doing. “I’m just fucking with you, Snow.” 

I’d be pissed at him for being such an arse if I weren’t already so nervous. “So you… you want to go?”

“Sure. Yeah. Okay.” 

All I do is nod. I can feel my insides melt. Fuck, I’m a goner. 

  
_Baz_

The latter half of our shift, Snow was acting rather… odd. He kept staring at me like there was something on my face. I even checked in the reflection of the metal containers that hold toppings. He just kept staring at me, walking up to me, and walking away without saying a word. Then, he’s standing there with his eyes gleaming in the lights just above us. 

Snow asks if I want boba. Frankly, I don’t know what the fresh hell boba is, but he seems very excited about it. Is this a date? I’m afraid to ask, but I feel like my heart is going to bust out of my chest. I can’t be so presumptuous. After this, we won’t just be work friends. We’ll be _real_ friends. 

_Hey, it’s a start._

As Simon and I walk down the seafront, we pass by penny arcades and fish and chip shops. Simon is quiet for once; it’s peaceful. The evening glow, the golden hour. The light reflecting off the sea, off of Simon’s bronze curls. I can’t help but sigh. The evening feels so perfect. I follow Snow in a comfortable silence.

He leads us through town, down multiple roads, streets, and alleyways. We come to a cafe on the end of a street. ‘ **Petty’s Tea Room & Bakery**’. There is a ding of a bell as we open the swing door. The cafe is small and is decorated with unmatching chairs, tables and sofas. It’s quiet; there’s only one customer who’s slowly working away on their laptop at the booth looking out the windows. I can’t help but feel relaxed in its atmosphere. I can see why Simon loves this place.

Simon’s face lights up as he spots the lady working the desk. She's short with a blonde bob cut in a straight line that sits just under her jaw. She’s wearing a knitted jumper, with a green apron over top of it, cafe name embroidered on it. 

“Ebb!” Simon yells excitedly. “This is Baz.” He gestures towards me in introduction. Ebb flashes me her teeth in a large friendly smile. Her eyes crinkle around the edges when she smiles. It is infectious; I can’t help but smile back at her.

I take a look at the chalkboard menu whilst Simon talks animatedly to Ebb. The drinks are listed in a handwritten swirly font, and there is a large selection with some normal and some unusual flavours. That cursed Sour Cherry Simon raves about is here too.

“What’ll ya have, darlin?” The blonde lady-- Ebb-- asks me with a toothy grin. 

"French Vanilla, please."

"Oh, so polite!” She giggles to herself. “And Simon your usual?" He smiles and nods in return. “It’ll be just’a moment lovelies. Make yourself at home, Baz!” 

“Thank you, Ebb!” Simon bounds away. This must be his usual spot. There is a coffee table between two sofas tucked into the corner. Simon takes the sofa closest to the desk and I take the other. It’s quiet.

“So…” he says, timidly.

“Yeah… so.” _Why is this so awkward?_ Simon starts playing with his fingers absentmindedly. I look over to Ebb, who’s hard at work on our drinks. “You know everyone, don’t you, Snow?” 

Simon’s eyes furrow and he looks over to where I'm looking over at Ebb. “Oh, Ebb? She worked at Watford Cones years ago.”

“Are there any co-workers you haven’t tried to befriend?” He’s like a little puppy, whereas I keep to myself as best as I can. We’re total opposites. Maybe I should feel less special, knowing he’s just a friendly kinda guy, but I don’t. 

“Ebb’s more than just a friend. She’s practically family. I mean, I pretty much grew up with her. When I was in primary school, Penny and I would come visit the shop pretty often. I went by myself sometimes, and Ebb would sneak me extra toppings when the bosses weren't looking. I spent hours there with her. I loved hearing her talk her nonsense.” He chuckles at that thought. 

“Then she left a couple of years ago to start up her own shop. She’s been dreaming of this place for as long as I remember. This was all she ever talked about when I was little. Ebb is so cool, I--” he stops, looking embarrassed. “Oh, I’m rambling again, aren't I?”

I can’t stop the smile spreading across my face at this bumbling idiot. I huff. “It’s okay, Si-”

“’ere you go lads,” Ebb places our orders on the coffee table between us. “Enjoy, sweethearts!” She shifts a look between the two of us and heads back.

“Ebb makes the best bubble tea’s. Her French Vanilla is so good. One of the best!”

He goes to take a drink, and I stop him. “Wait, we should do a toast. Toasts are the best way to honor an occasion and make things official.” 

“What… what are we making official?”

Instead of answering, I raise my cup in the air. “A toast… to officially becoming real friends, not just work friends. Y’know, since this is the first time we’ve been together outside of work?”

“Oh, right right.” He nods enthusiastically, then clinks his cup against mine-- except they’re plastic, so they don’t really clink. “Friends. Yeah. _Friends._ ”

I take a sip of mine. “You’re right, not bad.” 

He excitedly takes a sip of his bubble tea. It’s a bright red colour. Curious about it, I raise my eyebrow in question and gesture towards his drink.

“Hmm? It’s Sour Cherry.” _of course_. “Just like at ours, Ebb actually came up with the flavour. She based it off a desert she used to have back at school. She sells her own version in her bakery.” Simon tilts his head, reminding me of a puppy again. He holds up his drink towards me. “Wanna try it?” 

He’s always trying to share his food and drinks with me. If it were anyone else, I would immediately refuse, because germs are disgusting and I refuse to ever get sick. Interestingly enough, the idea of Snow’s spit doesn’t really bother me. I lean forward and take a sip from the straw. It’s tart, but sweet. Distinctively cherry, oldschool. I can see why he likes this flavour.

“So, since we’re now officially real friends, I was wondering… my roommate Shep-- uh Shepard-- we’re throwing him a party.” Snow stammers, red still blushing his cheeks. “He got promoted! So he wanted to have a party… Would you maybe wanna come?”


	7. chapter seven

_  
Simon  
_

I knew Operation Ask Baz Pitch on a Date had officially failed once he confidently declared us  _ friends _ . Just friends. I wasn’t going to push it any further than that. Friends would have to be good enough for me. He made it pretty clear that’s all he wanted, and I was going to have to respect that. Plus, I didn’t wanna embarrass myself for hinting that I wanted more. I couldn’t handle that kind of rejection from him and risk everything getting all wonky and awkward.

I wasn’t surprised that Baz didn’t want to come to Shepard’s party. I knew he wouldn’t agree right away. A good few days of trying to convince him still wasn’t enough. Luckily, when I told Agatha what was going on, she agreed to help. 

“What can I get for you?” I smile at her, lazily leaning forward on the counter. She giggles from the other side. We do this whenever one is working and the other comes in on their day off-- pretend they’re a total stranger and take their order in the most cloying customer service voice we can muster. Penny says my customer service voice doesn’t sound much different from my normal happy, friendly voice. Agatha turns into a completely different person. And Penny… doesn’t really have a customer service voice. 

“Are you on the menu?” She asks, and I wait a beat, see if she actually can keep a straight face this time. This is something else we do-- use terrible chat up lines on each other and see who cracks first. Predictably, she almost immediately bursts out laughing. 

There are no customers in the store right now, as we’re about to close, but Baz is wiping down tables. He looks up when Agatha laughs, his eyebrows furrowed, then he goes back to scrubbing down the table, this time even more aggressively. 

“What  _ else  _ can I get for you?” I ask, chuckling myself. “You may not know this, but the store closes in ten minutes, soo…”

“Soo hurry up and close it!” Agatha finishes for me. “Shep’s party is tonight, and I don’t want you making me late.”

“I thought we were supposed to always be fashionably late?” I ask, tilting my head. I’m glad I already finished closing the till before Ags got here. It’d be impossible to concentrate. Sometimes I forget we’re at work when we talk like this. 

“Yes, but we can’t be too late, or it’ll make us seem insensitive. It’s an exact formula.”

“Sorry I’m not familiar with all the social nicety rules. It’s one of the perks of being a bin baby.” I try to laugh, but Agatha just makes a face like she always does when I bring up my parents. Or, lack thereof. “Anyway, it’s my flat. So who cares if I’m late? And you’re my plus one.”

“I thought Baz was your plus one?” She frowns, and she’s said it loud enough for him to hear. I mean, our whole conversation has been loud enough for him to hear, but she really makes sure she’s loud enough as she says it. 

“Baz said he can’t come,” I say, like it’s no big deal, adding a shrug for good measure. I look over at him, and he’s still scrubbing at tables, even though we’re literally about to close. 

“Why ever not?” Agatha turns around and looks at him too. “Baz?”

“Hm?” He stands up straight and raises an eyebrow at us. That tosser. I know he could hear us.

“Why can’t you come to Shepard’s party?” 

“I never said I couldn’t. I said I  _ wouldn’t _ . There’s a difference.” 

“Well, I say you  _ should _ .” Agatha crosses her arms. “Hanging out outside of work could help us with team building or whatever the fuck.”

Baz scoffs. “Yeah, I don’t think that--”

“What’s stopping you?” Agatha cuts him off. They’re both incredibly stubborn, so I’m just stood behind the counter watching, seeing how this is going to play out. 

Baz sighs. He throws the dish towel over his shoulder and rakes a hand through his hair. It should be pulled back in a hair tie, and he should be wearing a visor, but none of us really give a shit when he’s not serving ice cream and the managers aren’t here (which is hardly ever). “I don’t know any of Shepard’s friends. I don’t even know Shepard.”

“Neither do we,” Agatha responds. “I mean, we know Shepard... Well, I kinda know him. I’m mostly just going to hang out with Si and Penny. Plus, free alc.”

“Yes, because spending 6 hours a day with you lot just isn’t enough for me. At least here I get paid for it.”

“What if I gave you my share of the tips for a week, yeah?” I suggest, and they both look at me like they forgot I’m here.

Baz waves his hand at me dismissively. “Keep your stupid tips.” He throws his hands in the air, then crosses his arms, mirroring Agatha. “Fine, if it’s that important to you, I’ll come.”

“I guess my mother was right; peer pressure definitely works.” Agatha laughs.

_  
Baz  
_

I didn’t expect this many people to be here. Shepard seems to have a lot of friends, who seemingly have nothing in common with each other. Mostly everyone is around college-aged, but there are a few older people-- well, closer to Fi’s age, she’d kill me if she knew I called her ‘older’. I have a couple good mates from school, but nothing like this. I don’t even think this many people would show up to my funeral. 

“Alright, I came, now I’m going home,” I say as soon as we enter the flat. 

Before I can actually leave, Agatha throws her arm around my shoulder. “Baz, if I can deal with Shepard’s friends for one evening, I promise you can too.” 

Speaking of the devil, Shepard appears in front of us, grinning from ear to ear. I recognize him from some of Simon’s Instagram pictures, that night I was scrolling through his page and accidentally made it to the bottom. I stand back as he wraps Agatha in a hug and talks with Simon for a second. As they’re talking, Agatha walks away, and I’m thinking about following her when he turns to me and extends his hand. “Hey, you must be Baz. I’m Shepard.” 

“Yes,” I reply, shaking his hand. Then, because I feel awkward, “oh, congratulations, by the way.”

“Huh?” He furrows his eyebrows. “Oh! The promotion. Hey, I’ll take any excuse I can to throw a party.”

“Yeah, it usually has to be a  _ really  _ good excuse. I can’t handle this every weekend,” Simon says. At least he has standards.

“I always clean up after, though! And your friends usually come, too.” Then Shepard says to me, “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, really?” I give Simon a look. I wonder if it’s Simon that’s been talking about me to him, or Agatha, or even Penny. I wonder what he-- or they-- have been saying, but I also definitely do  _ not  _ want to know. I feel a little nauseated just thinking about it. 

“All good things!” Shepard laughs. “I think Simon would kill me if I repeated any of it.”

Now I  _ really  _ don’t want to know. Or I  _ really  _ do. Simon’s face has gone pink. He elbows Shepard. 

“Maybe bringing Baz  _ was  _ a bad idea. I didn’t bring him here so you could embarrass me.”

“To be fair, you do pretty well embarrassing yourself on your own,” I say. When Shepard laughs, I can’t help but smile. Simon frowns, and his face is still red, and it’s just a little too adorable for me right now. I look away. 

“Well, pizza and drinks are in the kitchen. Feel free to help yourself. Also, if you hate any songs in the mix just yell ‘SKIP’ really loud and someone will take care of it.” Then Shepard disappears. There’s a Taylor Swift song playing on the speaker. Not too bad, but I know no matter how bad the playlist gets, I’m not telling someone to play something else at their own party. 

“D’you wanna get something to eat?” Simon asks me, which I know is just Simon for ‘ _ I’m hungry and would like to get something to eat _ .” I wish he’d just say that. I’m hardly ever hungry when he asks if I’m hungry. 

“No, I think I actually should go.”

“You just got here,” Simon argues, but he just sounds sad. He’s making this hard on me. He always makes things hard on me.

“I know, it’s just… it’s all too much. There’s too many people.”

He nods. “Okay, yeah. I completely understand. How about we just go in my room for a bit?”

I hesitate. He’s definitely not coming onto me, is he? No, of course not. I saw how he was with Agatha earlier tonight. Finally I sigh. “Alright, I’ll stay a little longer.”

“Yes!” He looks so happy that I’m staying, and I don’t understand it, but I can’t help but smile either way. “Let me just go find Penny and let her know I’m here. It’s the last door on the right.”

“Bring me some ribena if you have any!” I call after him, and then I make my way into his room. The bed is surprisingly tidy, but as soon as you look over the other side you can see all the clothes piled up on the floor. Right next to the clothes hamper. A+ for effort.

When Simon comes to his room, he’s got a glass of ribena for us both. He sets them down on his nightstand. I’ve been hovering awkwardly by the door, and he pats the bed next to him after he sits down. I stare at him for a second, and then sit down. 

“Snow…” I start. I don’t know why I keep thinking about this, but I know I won’t be able to until I ask him about it. 

“Hm?”

“What’s up with you and Agatha?”

“Me and Ags?” He laughs awkwardly. “We’re just friends, why? Do you… are you interested in her?”

“No!” I say, and it sounds like I’m lying. I try again, “no, just… no.”

“Well, why not? You two could be quite good together, I could see that.” He asks, and I can’t believe Snow is trying to set me up with our co-worker. With  _ Agatha _ . This is not the direction I expected this conversation to go. Then again, I’m not sure what I expected at all. 

“First of all, it’s always a bad idea to date one of your co-workers,” I answer.

“Oh,” Simon says, and he sounds so… defeated. I don’t know why he cares so much all of a sudden. I shouldn’t have even brought it up. It’s just… seeing them together sometimes feels like a punch in the gut. I wanted to know for sure, so I could stop torturing myself by overthinking and assuming things. 

“Secondly, she’s not my type.”

“What? What’s wrong with Agatha? I’m sure she’s everyone’s type.” 

I can’t believe I’m about to do this. Just to get him off my back. Just so I can say it, and finally know if Simon Snow’s friendship is conditional or not. “She’s not my type because she’s a girl.”

It takes him a second. 

Actually, a few.

“Oh, well, alright.” I wait to see what his reaction is actually going to be, before I’m relieved he doesn’t immediately hate me. “So you just like blokes then, yeah?”

I shrug, even though I’ve known the answer to that question since I was practically a child. “Yes. What about you? If you’re sure Agatha’s everyone’s type, why aren’t you with her?”

“I’m not sure what my type is,” Simon answers. I can tell he’s answering a different question than the one I’ve just asked. “I’ve never been in a relationship before, not really.”

“Me neither.” 

“No way, liar,” Simon says. He looks me up and down, really lets his eyes linger, and I feel a bit uncomfortable. I hate when straight guys do this, look at me differently after I’ve come out to them. It really confuses me. Not that I’ve come out to very many people. 

“If I’m a liar, you’re a liar. I refuse to believe you’ve never had a girlfriend, Snow.”

He shakes his head. “Agatha’s the closest thing. We used to go to school dances together. I had my first kiss with her when we were fifteen. Nothing more than that. We both realized quickly we didn’t see each other that way. I even stayed with her family a few months at the end of year 13, and over winter holiday. She’s more like a sister to me at this point.” 

“I’ve never kissed anyone,” I admit. 

“That’s also very hard for me to believe.”

I look away. I’m embarrassed. I don’t know why I admitted that to him. He didn’t need to know. “Whether you believe it or not, I’m not lying.”

“Well… if you’re telling the truth… then that’s fine.” He smiles at me and the smile is so weirdly genuine it makes my stomach turn. We then sit in silence for a while, as I sip at my Ribena. I can’t really think of much else to say, and I don’t really want to leave his side either. He really is damn confusing. With his soft glances, random touchiness, and suggestive -not date- dates. I really don’t know what to think of this, whatever this is, anymore. 

“Do you regret applying for the job?” he says, interrupting the eternal silence between us. I can’t help but think that, whatever my answer is, it’ll be wrong.

Do I regret getting to know you?  _ No _ . Do I regret letting myself fall for a little too blue eyes and bronze curls that maze me more than let me stare? I’m still deciding on it.

“Every time,” he looks startled at the words. A bit hurt even. I continue, “I put on my apron and pretend to care about whether ‘brownie chocolate’ or ‘dark chocolate’ is better with a middle age, clearly homophobic woman, I kinda do.” He laughs at that and then I do too.

“Obviously, ‘brownie chocolate’ is better.”

“Obviously.” We’re just staring at each other now. I wish for this bottle of Ribena to be vodka so much it might as well be a spell. 

I could kiss him. We’re so close and he’s so confusing but so gorgeous. And brave. And did I mention gorgeous? 

"Baz…" As if I’m dreaming, I see him lean a bit closer to me. I want to close my eyes. "Do you– do you ever, I don't know, want something more?"

_ Every day. _ "What do you mean?" I breathily say as if my heart wasn't about to say fuck all and close the space between us. He looks me up and down, longing, and I could swear I’m making it up. 

“I don’t know… Just… something  _ more.  _ I always feel like something's missing.” His eyes are staring at my lips now. He’s leaning in. I can’t be making this up. 

I let myself want. I give myself permission to have this. 

My eyes flutter closed, and slowly, our foreheads start to press together softly. I can feel his breath on my lips, but something is still holding both of us back. Everything changes once this happens. There’s no going back. 

“Simon!” The door flies open to reveal Shepard, now with a cowboy hat and what looks like a ‘Heads Up’ game in his hand. “Come on, we’re not starting the game without you!”

Then Snow’s eyes meet mine again and he looks like he’s just woken up from a trance. He suddenly moves back. He stands up quickly and forgets I’m here for a second, before turning towards me again. He’s almost more at a loss for words than I am. Just,  _ what the hell was that? _

“Will you two be pairing?” says Shepard and I can see Snow redden all the way to his ears. Right. “On the game, Simon.”

“Actually,” I say before Snow says anything else. I don’t think I could manage to hear more than a sigh leave his mouth right now. “I think I better get going.”

__  
Simon  


Baz leaves quicker than I can process. He doesn’t even let me walk him to the door or object. I don’t know what the fuck I just did back there, but I definitely fucked this up. Of course I did. He  _ clearly _ doesn’t want to be involved with a coworker, and here I was, a breath away from kissing him. Really? How dumb was I to think that just because Baz  _ is _ gay, he would want  _ me _ ? I really needed a reality check. 

“Si, is everything okay? What--”

“It’s-- we’re fine.” I interrupt Shepard. If he starts asking questions, I honestly don’t know what I’ll say. It’s his night anyway.

Our more inner circle sits on the floor then. Everyone else is still being pretty loud. Shep must really like this game. Agatha spares one look at me and I quickly look at the floor, hoping she won’t say anything.

“Where’s Baz?” She says and I’m forced to look up to see her suspicious narrowed eyes looking directly at me.

“He just had to leave--”

“Well, we did a whole fuss earlier over why he should stay!” She starts sitting up and I have to put my hand over her leg to stop her.

“Maybe it’s best if you don’t go looking for him right now.” 

She looks me up and down and somehow narrows her eyes more. “Simon, a word?” She pulls my arm and brings me to the kitchen. “Speak.”

I tell her what happened, or really, what  _ almost _ did. “I let myself get in over my head and I’m just glad I stopped there. I think he might hate me now, though…” 

Agatha just sighs and holds a hand to her temple, shaking her head. Really, if I wanted a lecture right now, I would’ve told all of this to Penny.

“Penny! Come here and help me tell Simon what an idiot he is.” I whine as she says that, though, I can’t say I’m surprised.

After a quick 10 second explanation, Penny hits my arm. “Simon! We’ve been through this! He likes you too!” She says as if it was that simple.

“Okay, first off, that hurt. And secondly, you don’t know that! He literally said it was a bad idea to date one of your co-workers.”

“And what was the context of this?” Penny asks, crossing her arms.

“Well… He was talking about not wanting to date Agatha, but the point stands!”

Agatha snorts. “I would be offended but he definitely likes  _ you _ . And if my math is right, I’m pretty sure he couldn’t have gotten far since he would rather close the shop up for a week straight than take the bus.”

I contemplate the possibility that he does like me back. That he wants something more just as much as I do. “But what if he doesn’t? What if he’s completely repulsed by the idea of us together? What if he quits and then none of us ever see him again?” I accidentally raise my voice at that. I didn’t realize how much I cared until now.

“Si… I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He even stayed in this job this long when he clearly didn’t enjoy it at first, probably ‘cause he wanted to spend time with you. And even if not, you’ll never know if you don’t take the chance now, will you?” Agatha says, voice much softer and genuine than before. I want to trust her.

"Wouldn't you rather know for sure instead of wondering?" Penny adds. I know she's right, but my heart is a closed fist and I'm scared to know what will happen to me if I open it.

"No. I mean, this way he can't reject me."

Agatha rolls her eyes. "If you don't go after him now, then I'm calling him on my mobile and telling him myself that you have a big fat gay crush on him." 

"Fine!" I relent, and I dash out the door before I can talk myself out of it or another person can stop me and ask where I'm going. I run as fast as I can, and I call out his name through labored breaths. 

But I can't find him in the streets. And he doesn't answer my texts or calls either.


	8. chapter eight

_  
Baz  
_

I should just quit. Thinking about showing up to work and facing Snow makes me feel ill. It's even worse when I picture him and Agatha working together. So what if I misread all his signals? So what if I fucked everything up? It doesn't matter. I don't care. 

I call out of work the next day. Agatha answers and asks if I’m okay. I can’t even lie and tell her yes. I tell her I’m ill. I don’t know what to do with myself. I can’t stay home. My family knows my work schedule by now, and I can’t handle them asking me questions. There’s no way I could talk to them, or my small pool of friends, about my boy problems. About my  _ Snow  _ problems. 

I text the only person I feel like I can trust with all these feelings. I don’t know her, not really, but she’s one of the few people who even knows I’m queer, and I feel like she’s the least likely to judge me regardless. 

Lara texts back over twenty minutes later, and she’s on her way to my place in less than five. When she knocks on the door, my step-mother calls me to answer it. I see the way Daphne warmly smiles at Lara when she enters, and I know she’s already itching to tell my father and the whole universe ‘ _ Basilton had a girl over today. _ ’ Don’t get your hopes up, universe. 

I don’t think my father would have the same smile on his face if he saw Lara now, dressed down from the New Year’s Party and our dinner date. In her fishnets, doc martens, and heavy eye makeup, she looks like a completely different person. In fact, she looks like a younger, modern, korean Fiona. Yep, father definitely wouldn’t approve. 

As we head to my bedroom, Daphne calls out “keep the door open!” I roll my eyes and Lara laughs way too loudly, elbowing me in the ribs. She finds a comfortable seat in the chaise lounge at the end of my bed, and I lay on my back, my head hanging off the foot of my bed. 

“Sooo what’s up with you? You sounded depressed as fuck in your texts.” 

“It’s um…” I will myself not to blush, even though my head is upside down and I can just claim it’s all the blood rushing to my cheeks. I keep my voice low, in case someone walks by the open door of my bedroom. “Boy problems.” 

“Well well well,” Lara says, and I can hear the smirk in her voice without even looking. “I may not know much about boys, but I’m still honored you asked  _ me  _ for help with this particular problem. Honestly, I thought you forgot I existed.”

“Why would you think that?” I turn to look at her, my brows furrowed. 

“You hadn’t texted me back after dinner, Basilton.”

“I told you, you can call me Baz.”

“Yeah, maybe I will when you actually start texting me back. It’s been a whole week.”

“Sorry.” I flip over onto my stomach, propped up on my elbow. “I guess I’ve just been… busy.”

“Busy with your boy problems, right. Well, go on then. Tell me what’s up.”

I tell her everything I can remember about Snow, every little detail. I tell her about every funny, beautiful, confusing interaction we’ve ever had. I tell her about all his moles and his favourite ice cream flavour. I’m sure I talk for an entire hour without stopping. I tell her about how he rambles, too, and how I’ve started seeing beautiful pieces of him in myself the longer I know him. I haven’t ever had anyone to talk to about him. All these thoughts have just been bouncing around in my own head for months.

Finally, I tell her about the almost-kiss, about how I ran out of the party, and called out of work. 

“It sounds like…” she starts, after being silent for way too long. “He’s playing you, boy.” 

“How so?”

“I mean, clearly he doesn’t know what the fuck he wants. He just wants to be your friend, he wants to kiss you. He’s scared to commit to either, so now you’re both caught in the middle.”

“I don’t think he’s doing it on purpose. Snow is just… not very smart. Especially when it comes to social situations.”

“Sure, but honestly, he sounds like more work than he’s worth. I’d say just cut your losses now. Plenty of fish in the sea and all that.” 

“Not for me there isn’t.” 

“C’mon, Basilton. You’re a respectable gentleman. You deserve to be treated with  _ respect _ . Don’t let someone make you feel like you’re nothing.”

“That’s the problem. He makes me feel like I’m  _ everything _ .” 

“Love shouldn’t have to hurt this much. Guarantee you, your soulmate is also out there cryin’ about his own boy problems right now. My last girlfriend treated me like  _ shite _ , and now that I’m free I feel so… well, free.” 

“Where do you even find all these girls you date?”

She shrugs. “Clubs, friends of friends, dating apps.” 

I scrunch up my nose. None of those sound particularly appealing to me. I wish the perfect guy would just fall from the sky, right into my lap. I thought that guy was Snow. Now, I’m convinced that if the perfect guy does exist, he’d never really want me. Not wholly. And if he did want me, I’d somehow find a way to screw it all up.

__  
Simon  


The tension is palpable. 

“I’m putting in my two weeks notice,” Baz says, breaking his silence for the first time since the party. Work has been Hell today without his smile. I covered his shift yesterday when he called out. As soon as he got here today, I knew immediately that he was never really sick. He was avoiding me

I can’t blame him.

Then, I finally hear what he’s said. I can’t process it. I must’ve misheard it. “What?” 

Baz sighs. “It was only supposed to be a summer job, Snow. I have to go to university.”

“Oh. Are you… moving far away?”

“No, I’ll still be in London. I just won’t have time for this anymore. I have to study.” 

He won’t have time for  _ me  _ anymore. That’s what he’s saying. I can’t stop hearing it inside my head, even though he never actually said it.  _ ‘I won’t have time for you anymore’  _

I finally found something that was  _ mine _ . Something that was special, that was nobody else’s. Something that I didn’t have to share or return. I wish I knew a way to keep Baz Pitch’s heart. If I truly had it, I would never let it go.


	9. chapter nine

_  
Simon  
_

Shepard knocks on my door for the fifth time today and calls my name softly. I hear him set something down outside the door but I don't bother to get up. He has been doing this for the past two days. 

These episodes, as Penny likes to say, started halfway through high school. Periods of time lasting anywhere from one day to a week. Periods of time where nothing feels real and at the same time everything feels  _ too _ real. Too quiet but too noisy. Where my mind reminds me of how I was an orphan, how my parents left me. How, in the foster homes, the other kids didn't like me and picked fights with me all the time, only for us to be pulled apart by the adults. I was always blamed because I was the ‘problem child’, the one kid that never stayed in the same care home for longer than a few months. 

My phone has been dead since the day Baz told me he was leaving. He’d stopped texting me back, so I didn’t see the point in charging it. When I woke up the next morning, my body was weighed down to my mattress and my brain screamed at me about my worthlessness. I managed to ask Shepard to call work and tell them I wouldn't be there and then I fell asleep. I've been sleeping to ignore the constant thoughts and anxieties swarming my brain. 

"Simon?" Shepard calls, "I'm off to work, there's food outside your door. I'll be back soon." I hear the door open and close and the lock turn. My stomach rumbles at the thought of food because I have avoided eating for the past day. I finally decide, enough is enough and get out of bed, stars clouding my vision from standing up for the first time in hours. I sit on the edge of my bed and allow my sight to clear and then I reach for my phone and plug it into the charger. The screen lights up and I open the door to my room.

Shepard left a plate of cherry scones and a turkey sandwich on the floor with a note:  _ Love you, Si! _

I smile to myself as I pick up the plate and move to the sofa to eat. The sandwich hits the spot and I audibly groan. After not eating for a day, anything would taste good, but Shepard has a talent for making sandwiches and they always taste wonderful. 

I finish my plate and put it in the sink to deal with later and move to the bathroom to take a shower. After the water warms up enough, I peel myself out of the clothes I've been in for two days and sigh as the water hits my skin. Everything always feels unbelievably good after these episodes. 

Once I reach for the body wash, the spiraling thoughts are back. My knees hit the bathtub floor but I barely register the pain as I feel myself curl up and start to cry. Nothing feels real. Nothing is real. Everything is too loud but too quiet. I should turn off the shower but I can't move my arms. I just sit there on the bathtub floor and cry.

Soon enough, I think I either pass out or fall asleep, because I'm being shaken awake by someone. I hear the shower turn off and faintly feel a hand on my shoulder. 

"Simon." At first I thought it would be Shepard, but that doesn't sound like him. The person starts to shake me a bit and I blink up at them. I see long, dark hair and my brain helpfully tells me,  _ ‘It's Baz.’ _

"Baz?" I whisper. My throat is sore from crying and I start coughing. I feel something soft around my shoulders and two strong hands lifting me out of the bathtub, patting me dry.

__  
Baz  


_ Holy shit. What is happening? I can hear my heart pounding from the fear. Simon was naked and unconscious in his shower, I haven’t heard from him in two days and he has not shown up for work either. What if he had been kidnapped or mugged or worse? My brain needs to shut it. _

“Why... Why are you here?” Simon asks groggily. He’s exhausted, the poor bastard. His brows furrow, trying to focus his eyes on me.

“Penelope came in during our shift and told me that I should stop by.”  _ I’m glad that I did _ . “Come on, let’s get you into some clean clothes.” 

Simon is too exhausted to put up a fight and let’s me dress him. He’s wobbly so I let him lean his weight against me. I try not to notice all of the moles and freckles that dot his skin like stars and constellations.

“Would you like some tea, Snow?” I ask him, practically carrying him to the sofa in his living room. I set him down, and he looks confused for a second, he looks up and nods slightly.

I head towards his kitchen. I fill up the kettle. I look around whilst it boils. There's so much I didn't notice the first time I was here. Such as, Simon lives in an open plan flat where the living room is attached to the kitchen. There's pictures of Shepard and who I presume is his family lining the walls. None of Simon. There isn't much of Simon in this flat at all. Not even in his own bedroom. It's like he doesn't have much of anything. Maybe he doesn't. 

From the kitchen I can see Simon’s profile, he’s staring at a spot on the wall. I really hope he’ll be okay. I wonder what started this off? I make us tea, just the way he likes, two sugars and whole milk-- a fact I somehow remember from one our late night text conversations. It’s crazy to think that Simon is the same as the one staring at the wall behind me right now.

“Here you go, Snow.” I hand him the tea. He seems to snap out of it, grabs his tea and goes straight back to it. I sit myself next to him and continue to look around. The living room is quite tidy, but there's still a good bit of clutter around. There's a big collection of DVDs and video games on bookshelves, and a large TV mounted on the wall. I imagine most of the stuff is Shepard's. 

“Hey um… It is exactly what you said a while back, I am here for you. No matter what.” I assure him.

All I get is a quick smile, which doesn’t reach his eyes. “Thank you, I appreciate it.” He seems to shrink into himself. “I’m sorry for being so useless.”

“Simon, you are not useless, far from it in fact. Whatever those voices are saying, they’re wrong. They are always wrong, Okay?” I place my hand on his shoulder and give it a comforting squeeze. He nods at me and finally takes a sip. We’re quiet for a while. It is a comfortable quiet.

“Wanna put Netflix on?” Simon asks and grabs the controller from the cluttered coffee table. “There’s this show I know you’d love, I’ve watched like 5 times.” Simon asks me timidly.

“Sure, go ahead.” I say amusing him. Simon puts on the show, starting at the beginning. He finds a blanket and snuggles himself in. This show is a comedy cop show, Simon laughs quietly at the jokes, the jokes are a bit crude but genuinely a bit funny. After a while i’m starting to enjoy it. It’s even got me laughing. As much as I hate to admit it, Snow was right. I do enjoy it. I look over to Simon, he’s dozed off. He looks so peaceful, I let him sleep. A smile comes to my lips. 

A few episodes later, my eyes haven't left the screen. This show has a way of sucking you in. I hear a quiet chuckle from my right. Simon stirs from his nap.

“What episode are we on?” Simon’s sleepy voice asks me, closer than I expected. He must have moved whilst he napped. He’s now right inches away from me. Still wrapped in his blanket. 

“10? I think I’ve lost track,” I admit. A smile slowly spreads across his face. Simon rubs the sleep from his eyes, lightly brushing his elbow against me.

“I knew you’d like it.”

“You know me better than most. Better than anyone, I think.,” I admit.

“Really?”

“Yeah.”

“Most days I feel like I don’t know you at all.” 

“Don’t be ridiculous, Snow. You know everything about me.” 

“I don’t. I… I don’t know what you want.” His voice is almost a whisper now. I swallow.

“What I want?”

“Baz… do you remember, at the party, when I asked you if you ever feel like you want something more?”

“Yeah?”

“I think you’re what’s been missing this whole time.” 

"Oh." I don't know what he means. I don't know what to say. 

Then, he leans over and kisses me softly. Just like that. No big deal. As if we’ve kissed on this couch a million times before and will do so a million times more. He brings a hand out from his blanket and gently cups my cheek. I remember then that my eyes are supposed to be closed. When he pulls away a few short seconds later, I still want more. I still want  _ him. _

“I want  _ you _ , Baz. In whatever way you’ll have me. But I want you, like this, most of all.” 

I’ve always wanted him, since the first day I saw him. 

I tell him so.


	10. chapter ten

_  
Simon  
_

It has been months since Baz found me in my apartment, withering away in my bathtub. He never brings it up and I am immensely grateful for it. 

When he came into the shop the next day, I pulled him into the storage room and kissed him until his lips were Sour Cherry Ripple coloured. I kissed him with my hands and with little sounds of pleasure until he reminded me we were at work. It’s the warmest I’ve ever felt in that ice cream parlour. 

Pictures of us started taking over Baz's Instagram. The first one-- a picture of us holding hands and sharing a milkshake with two straws-- was flooded with comments from Baz's family and a few from my friends. I read every single one, and I couldn't stop smiling. Nobody has ever wanted to show me off like that before. He's such a beautiful photographer; he makes me look like something of an angel in every picture. Even the ones where I'm caught unawares, with a scone half-hanging from my mouth. Of course, he's always gorgeous. 

Baz doesn't bring up what happened with the bathtub, but he did heavily suggest I should get professional help. I didn't think I needed it, never thought I did. I've always felt broken, but I just accepted that was how I was, how I'd always be. I didn't know there was a chance for things to change, and I never would've known where to start. 

If it wasn't for Baz. 

He did all the research for me, found the doctor, found the therapist, set up the appointments, drove me, and held my hand in the waiting rooms. He picks up my prescriptions and texts me each morning to remind me to take my meds. Baz even bought me one of those adult colouring books-- his friend Lara says they help with anxiety. 

It is so difficult for me to associate the boy I first met all those months ago; posh, haughty, arrogant and stuck-up, to the Baz I know now. This Baz who has kind eyes and a contagious laugh, and lowers his head to hide his smile when I tease him about something. This Baz who loves all the children that come into the shop and sneaks them extra toppings. This Baz who never pushes me to talk about things I'm uncomfortable with, but in tiny little ways, still shows he cares. This Baz who texts me at night to make sure I had dinner, and texts me in the morning to make sure I slept well. 

__  
Baz  


Snow can be everything at once, and nothing at all. The day I found him in the bathtub broke my heart. But now he seems to have locked that moment up in a tower and thrown the key to a pit of lava.

I don't try to bring it up, and I also don't think this was a one time thing at all. 

So I do what I can. I'm here for him. If he needs me to take care of him again and a million times more, I will. Not that he needs to, though. He's much braver and stronger than he gives himself credit for. I just wish he could see that. 

When Mordelia saw my pictures of Simon on my Instagram, she immediately ran and told Fiona, who of course had to spill to the whole family (and extended family). My father and I had a rather short talk about it, and he doesn't bring up marriage or legacies or try to set me up with girls anymore. He doesn't talk about Simon, either, but he's not mean to him when he comes round. I figure that's the best start I'm going to get.

I started at uni. Studying takes up a lot of my time, but there's always room for Simon in my life. I make sure of it. I even stay employed at Watford, slinging scoops for a short shift every other weekend. I loved it too much to leave completely. 

Neither of us can be everything for the other person, but we lean on each other and support each other in the only ways we know how. Simon’s filled in so many of the holes inside of me, and I’m figuring out on my own how to fill the rest of them. Some parts of my life will never be completely whole. Maybe it’ll always feel like there’s something missing. Maybe we’ll both always be wanting something more. But in Simon, I see hope that we’ll both get there one day. Together.


End file.
